Winter was no time for wilderness baths, and the tubs of the Galadrim were welcome. Men and wizard had accumulated the most grime and vermin. The Hobbits were not far behind and no more than men were they fair to look upon. The last member of the Fellowship strode into the soaking room. Muscles, hardened from use, slid smoothly. Body, planed from arm to torso to thigh, radiated strength. Clever hands that could create, not only kill.

Arms akimbo, he glowered at the tub’s edge. “What are you staring at, elf?”

“Aulë’s creation. I had not realized dwarves were beautiful.”